


Caramel Frappe

by LittleRedSecret



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, IT'S ABOUT BEING GLOOMY BECAUSE OF RAIN AND HOMEWORK, Original Character(s), Rain, Social Commentary, Some Cuteness, but it's aesthetic i swear, it's v confusing i dont know what i wrote, please give me a chance ily, please read it anyways, read it for the beautiful scenery, thought spam wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 17:52:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14337861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRedSecret/pseuds/LittleRedSecret
Summary: 'You take a sip of your frappe. Condensation drips onto the table; the surviette is soaked through. The sweet taste of the caramel swirls in your mouth; only a hint of coffee can be tasted; smothered by whipped cream and sugar solution. You gag, take a gulp of water from your bottle. What’s the caffeine percentage of this, anyways? You spend the next ten minutes researching on it.'I'm not sure if anyone will read this but I hope someone gives it a try anyways ;; it would make me very happy hahahh-





	Caramel Frappe

Sometimes you consider the possibility that humanity is, in fact, not as bad as you always make it out to be, and that you’re the one in the wrong for seeing blood in every drop of water that leaks from the faulty, rusted taps in your school washroom; for watching closely with keen paranoia every smile your classmates crack in your direction; for judging food on texture instead of taste. Sometimes you consider the possibility that you are, in fact, not as bad you always make yourself out to be, and that you don’t need to weigh the consequence of every careless action you make; that you don’t need to apologise whenever someone gets hurt because of you, or for you; that your every footstep does not land on the head of someone you’ll need to hurt to get to where you want to go, where your dreams will lead you. 

Sometimes you consider the possibility that friends are, in fact, there for you, for the good times and maybe for the bad; for better or for worse; for you, and you.

However, just as the rain continues to soak your feet below your flimsy cloth shelter, you make your way through the floods of gushing blood that dash through the city’s veins, heading into the gaping train tunnel. Your shoes leave stains on the clean white tiles. People stare in disdain at your dripping wet umbrella; dodging you wherever you go. In this crowd of unfamiliar faces, you wonder if someday, someone here will become your friend by fate, and shiver. 

Sometimes you consider the possibility that trivial thoughts may actually be far superior to the words you leave on pages, deep in thought in the middle of nowhere, earphones jammed into both ears to blast looped music into your slowly deteriorating eardrums. 

You take a sip of your frappe. Condensation drips onto the table; the surviette is soaked through. The sweet taste of the caramel swirls in your mouth; only a hint of coffee can be tasted; smothered by whipped cream and sugar solution. You gag, take a gulp of water from your bottle. What’s the caffeine percentage of this, anyways? You spend the next ten minutes researching on it.

Outside, the rain flows steadily down the huge glass panels that make up the Starbucks building. On your screen, overlapping somehow with your blinking typing-mode cursor, you can see the reflection of the students chatting behind you. You don’t need to look at your keyboard, so you watch them instead as you write your essay. Typos can be corrected later; this is just a draft after all. 

The trees sway violently, a few metres away. A child runs for shelter, alongside her soaking wet mother. Her oversized jacket flutters dangerously close to the ground despite her having pulled it over her head.

You backspace. 

Sometimes you consider the possibility that you’ll become someone you can love, someday, that all your typing and typing and typing will not go to waste; that you won’t have to argue with yourself daily whether to do this, or this, or this, or that. Sometimes you consider the possibility of contentment. 

But sometimes, instead of possibilities, you consider the fact that you’ll never change; watching the blood leak from the veins of your friends, from the students on your screen, bleeding from the pages of the essay you’re writing for the fourth time today because you can’t convey what you want to others when you can’t even convey it to yourself. Often you consider the fact that you are not a bandage; you are not a needle; you are a wound. A huge, gaping wound, one which eagerly sucks up the blood that runs through the city veins, and from which drips ebony ink. 

Rarely do you consider the blood that runs through your veins. 

And even more rarely do you consider the sweet taste that often lingers on your rain-numbed tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do leave kudos/ a comment if you liked this work QWQ it makes me vv happy ;;


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